Chapter Text
"Attention passengers... uhhhthis is your captain speaking... uhhhdue to some mechanical problems, we will be forced to offload personnel from the uhhh... plane..."
Wren's eyes sleepily blinked open, wincing as golden evening light streamed in through the airplane windows. They shifted with a groan.
"D'we gotta worry about that righ'now..?" Parker yawned, nuzzling his head into Wren's right shoulder. There was a small dark patch on their hoodie under his open mouth, damp with spit. "Are... are we in Brazil yet?"
Chance picked his head up from it's spot on Wren's right shoulder, shutting his copy of Mistyworld. He glanced outside.
"I... can't tell, I think we're still in the states. But... hey, maybe not?"
"You—" Wren yawned, involuntarily. "Sorry—sleepy. You were awake and didn't hear where we landed?"
"... I just got to the good part." Chance muttered, sheepishly blushing. "But, yeah, I don't think we've crossed any international borders yet."
The disgruntled passengers filed past them, pulling their bags down from the overhead compartments. A bright-eyed, nervous-looking stewardess with a chic pair of glasses cheerfully directed people off the plane, dodging questions all while encouraging the passengers to speak to the customer service desk to reschedule their flights. Throngs of frustrated flyers grumbling (and shouting) about their cancelled flight pressed out, trying to get off the plane as fast as the foot traffic would allow.
To put it simply, she was not having a good day. Chance shot her an apologetic smile as the three made their way off the tarmac.
"So, how long are we betting the layover is gonna be?" Parker stretched his arms above his head, grunting as his lower back popped. A thin sliver of his stomach peeked out from where his shirt rode up. Chance watched the blush bloom on Wren's ears as they eyed him for a moment longer than necessary.
He giggled. Wren's head snapped to look at him.
"What?"
"Uh, nothing—nothing." Chance cleared his throat. "I'm betting six hours." With the aisle finally clear, he stood, helping Wren and Parker out of the cramped seats.
"Hmm..." Parker kissed his teeth, thinking as if he was doing the math. "Twelve. Minimum."
"Oof, pessimist much" Wren laughed. "That's way too long, there's no way it'll be—"
"—Twenty-four hours?!" They cried, gripping their hair. The steward at the customer service desk flinched at the sound of their voice. Behind them a line a hundred people deep groaned. At every terminal, another hundred people learned the same news of their own delayed flights. "Sorry, sorry—that's—that was loud and uncalled for, I apologize."
"I'm—I'm so sorry, but right now it's unsafe for any flights to land in or leave the state." The steward winced. "We'd be happy to reschedule your flight free of charge, but the earliest any planes will be able to take off would be tomorrow at noon."
"I—" Wren groaned. "We're so gonna miss the prerelease... Bladelung, my beloved..."
"Okay—okay, maybe we can get a day two copy instead—" Parker patted their shoulder comfortingly despite his own worried tone. "Or a day three. Day three's not bad, right?"
"We'd love to get three seats for tomorrow's flight. If it's not too much trouble." Chance cleared his throat, nervously piping up.
"Um—" A bead of sweat dripped down their brow. "So... there's actually a waitlist for groups of three or more—"
The three sat, faces blank, carry-ons piled into their laps and backs pressed to the flat, beige wall. Stuffy, recycled air pressed in on them from all sides.
"Two hundred and seventy-nine illustrated cards..." Chance sighed, his eyes misty.
"And... the duality dice system..." Parker's breath hitched. "The beautiful, beautiful duality dice system..."
"All because we ended up stuck in the ass-end of—" Wren paused. They furrowed their brow. "Where the hell are we?"
"Who even cares—" Parker choked out a single, lonely sob. Chance immediately pulled him into a bear hug, his own tears on the brink of starting. Wren stood, looking around to find some sort of identifying signage. The airline logo—Crosscontinental Airlines—was emblazoned on the wall behind the concierge... the hanging Terminal 22 sign, blue and gray—
And a gentle, neon glow, coming from just beyond the corner.
"Huh." Wren frowned.
Chance looked up from where he and Parker were curled into each other's arms, distraught.
"What? What is it?" He asked, sniffing. Wordlessly, Wren stood and made their way towards the multicolored light. "Wren?"
In a single fluid motion Wren shouldered their sturdy green duffel bag, stepping with purpose away from the dreary terminal. With each step, a cacophonous jungle of noise grew louder, and louder, and louder—echoes of families coordinating vacation plans, bachelor parties hooting and hollering, businessmen explaining that yes honey, they really were stuck in—
Wren turned the corner, towards the center of the airport. A massive, brilliant neon sign spun, perched on a pole in the center of an opulent fountain. Bright red lettering and shining noble gas-filled lights danced on the water's reflection.
WELCOME TO FABULOUS LAS VEGAS NEVADA
"Wren? Don't get kidnapped—" Parker called out, stopping mid-step as he took in the sign.
"Did you find out where we—oof!" Chance winced, colliding with Parker. "Sorry dude."
"It's cool. OH MY GOD, WE'RE IN LAS FRICKIN' VEGAS, BABY!" Parker whooped. "This layover just became TOLERABLE!!!"
"Hate to kill the party but... we've only got like, twenty-four hours, it'll probably take two or three to drive to the strip and back." Chance frowned. "I'd love to explore as much as you two—"
"That leaves us with twenty-something hours, Chance." Wren spun on their heel, gripping his shoulders. A glint sparkled dangerously in their eyes as they leaned in close. "C'mon, we might as well hit the town. Y'know, see the sights, take a touristy photo or two, maybe hit the craps tables..?"
"GAMBLE with us, Chance!" Parker threw his arms above his head. His battlevest jangled noisily. "We'll do games, come back for the flight, and if we hurry we'll be able to make it to the prerelease party before they start packing up. It's the literal perfect plan."
"It's... not. But we do need to find a place to spend the night..." Chance muttered, tempted in equal parts by the thrill of dice rolling, not sleeping in an airport, and Wren and Parker's matching puppy dog eyes. "What the hell, let's do Vegas."
Wren let out a cheer, throwing their arms around the boys in a giggly hug.
"This is gonna be the best layover ever. You guys wanna hit a buffet? I just realized airline peanuts won't satiate me and further." Chance grinned, his arms easily enveloping the two.
"Yeah, if we don't get food I'm gonna eat my own leg."
"I'll eat Chance's leg too, let's get out of here."
"Literally get your own—"
"You've got more than enough to share—!"
Wren looped their arms together, pulling their bickering boys towards the pickup lanes... and promptly turning towards the shady car rental depot when they saw the endless line of gig drivers waiting to pick up the other stranded visitors. With a determined set to their face and an emergency credit card in hand, they strode in, Chance and Parker still arguing about who would be cannibalized first.
"Hello! We are in need of the cheapest car you have for twenty-four hours!" They grinned, smacking their card down on the counter.
"Whatever." The greasy-haired man behind the counter couldn't have been more indifferent, taking the card with a half-shrug and handing Wren an inch-thick stack of paperwork. "We've got one thing that's available. It's two hundred for the day. Bring it back in one piece and we'll deal with everything else."
A baby blue Stallion convertible—beat to all hell, with about two hundred thousand miles, tears in the tan leather seats, and an atmosphere of acrid French cigarettes. The steering wheel was misaligned, the passenger side mirror has a permanent crack in it, and there was a weird clicking noise when the aircon flickered to life... it had all the charm of a true Vegas beauty. Wren looked at it, giddy.
"She's beautiful..." They sighed. "I will call her... Christina."
"Let's save the declarations of love for after she gets us to and from the strip, yeah?" Chance nudged them affectionately. "Dork."
"Okay, by my calculations..." Parker muttered, clamoring into the back seat. "We should get there right as the clock ticks down from the twenty-one hour mark."
"You accounting for the time it takes to get back?" Wren chirped, sliding into the driver's seat and immediately rolling the top down.
"... Right as the clock ticks down from the twenty hour mark." Parker corrected himself, fastening his seatbelt and immediately stretching out in the back seat. "Ohhh this is nice. It smells like shit but it's nice."
"Okay well, when you get your license, you can rent the car." Wren said with a playful scoff. Chance eyed the tires warily.
"They... wouldn't give us this car if it couldn't drive... right?"
"Probably not!" Wren shrugged.
And indeed, hurtling down the interstate towards the shimmering oasis of decadence, the car did in fact drive—well, even. The radio wouldn't tune to anything, but it was a new enough model that Chance was able to man the aux from his phone.
Parker's theater kid jamz 2 FUCK 2 playlist blared against the beating wind, against their voices, against the nicotine stink and peeling leather. Lyrics were belted, backing tracks sang along to—a funny feeling bubbling up into Wren's chest as Chance shouted the spoken interlude. The whole car lost the plot when Parker let out a particularly impassioned "WAH-OOH WAH-OOOOOOOOH".
The barren interstate gave way like a sinkhole, the endless red dessert falling out from under the little blue car into a pit of decadence. The sun had just started to sink below the horizon.
Wren pulled the beater into an open parking spot—one with barely a hair's breadth on either side.
"ALLLRIGHT—let's find somewhere to get a goddamn burger—" Wren grinned, pulling out their wallet. "Oh no." Parker sat up from the backseat bench with a deadpan look.
"... You left your emergency credit card at the rental place, didn't you?"
"...Yeah."
"And we all packed our cash in our checked bags."
"Yep."
"So we have no food or hotel money."
"Correct."
"Oh!" Chance snapped his fingers. "We also don't have money for gas to get the car back to the rental place."
"Yes Chance, thank you, that—that is also true." Wren groaned. They flicked a switch on the dashboard, putting the convertible's roof up. "Goddamnit, I feel so stupid—you were right Chance, this was such a dumb fucking idea—" He put a broad hand on their shoulder.
"Nope. Not letting you spiral."
"Yeah—c'mon, give me like... thirty minutes at a poker table and we'll be set!" Parker chimed in. "Looklook, how much cash is in your pocket?"
"Uh—"
Wren pulled out some crumpled fives and a one. The unzipped the change pouch and shook some coins out onto their hand.
"I have... twelve dollars total. Thirteen, if we count my lucky coin."
"We could never spend the lucky coin." Parker shook his head.
"Yeah, that thing's saved your ass too many times to count."
"I still can't believe you let me flip for a death saving throw once, god—okay, no focus—Parker... do you think you can work your magic and get us enough for gas back to the rental depot?"
"Psh, is muzjiks the best opening word for Lexico?" He held out his hands, as if waiting for the bit to land. The others stared at him blankly. "It's a—it's means a Russian peasant. Yes, obviously, I shall save us from the horrors of vacation-based poverty. We just gotta find a casino around here that'll let us bring our bags in."
"Hey, you can't park there unless you're a patron—!" A rough voice barked from the cracked sidewalk. The three turned. A bouncer in an ill-fitting suit jacket and bizarre, square mask stared at them, eyes narrowed and square jaw firmly set. "Colosseum Casino parking only."
"Hm. And..." Parker cocked an eyebrow. "Is this a... casino, by any chance? You know, for gambling men such as ourselves?"
Twenty hours remained.